Apprentice
by Vague Apparitions
Summary: Response to Hottiegally's challenge, continued in her memory. Unbeknownst to Danny, a strange figure is following and observing him. Who is he, and what does he want with Danny? Danny's life will be changed, and lessons of love and death will be learned.
1. The Stranger

**Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom.**

**Author's Notes: **This is a one-shot respose to Hottiegally's challenge: "A mysterious villain/stranger spys on Danny for oh-how-long, and demands to kidnap Danny with the intent he may become his/her apprentice, for good/bad reasons." Well, that's the challenge in my own words, anyway.

**09/19/10:** Due to the recent death of Hottiegally, I am continuing this story in her memory. This is part one of three.

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**The Stranger**  
**Response to Hottiegally's Challenge  
Apprentice, Part I**

Danny scarcely noticed the man clad entirely in black, nor did anyone else, for that matter. Anyone who noticed him would gaze past him as if he wasn't entirely there, or as if he was something so extraordinarily mundane that he wasn't worth looking at. He was nothing more than a shadow, a dark, fleeting glimpse in one's perspective – no one gave him even so much as a glance. The odd man preferred it this way; in fact, he made it so.

Yet, had one started at this person, they would have noticed that he kept his face covered almost entirely. They would have noticed his unfeasibly white skin. They would have noticed how impossibly emaciated the man appeared – he was practically a walking skeleton –, and they would have marveled at his impressive height. He remained unnoticeable to all, even if he was rather bizarre.

Danny had seen the stranger once or twice, but thought nothing of him. There were more important things to worry about than minding someone else's business. Seeing the stranger once or twice didn't qualify as being stalked, in Danny's mind. It was only coincidence. There was no issue.

Unfortunately, Danny wasn't entirely aware of how long the man had been watching him, or of how frequently. He did not know that the man practically shadowed his footsteps, observing each move the ghost-boy made with some then-unknown intent. He was entirely ignorant of the fact that the stranger had been present at each and every ghost fight, studying Danny meticulously.

_He catches specters with ease, with a certain finesse. He is familiar with the spirtual realms, no doubt, and he has experience dealing with the inhabitants. He has a sense of obligation, which is good. . . His potential is immense_, the stranger thought, _and should not be wasted. It should be put to use, and then, when his time is up – when his duty is fulfilled, just as mine is –, he shall have his reward._

One night, at precisely midnight, Danny awoke from his sleep to the icy feel of a blade upon his neck. It was a cruel blade, a scythe's blade, which was boasted by a cloaked figure. The figure's face was covered almost entirely, but Danny could see a skeleton's hands gripping the twisted wood of the instrument.

"Hello, Danny," the stranger spoke at last. "I am Death. You are my apprentice."

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**Author's Notes:** I initally wanted to title this "Don't Fear the Reaper" - that song was stuck in my head as I was writing this, due to the fact that I decided to write about the Reaper -, but I thought it gave away too much.


	2. The Stars

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Danny Phantom belongs to Butch Hartman. Death belongs to no one. The cave and candles are from the story "Godfather Death," which was written down by the Brothers Grimm.**

**Author's Notes:** I refused to update this. I couldn't see it as anything but a one-shot, and I didn't even attempt to do anything with it. However, as many of you know, Hottiegally recently died. This story was a response to her challenge, as previously mentioned, and she absolutely loved it. When I heard the news, I felt obliged to continue this. There will be three parts to the story. This is the second. The third part is going to be sort of an epilogue. I do realize that this story is about death. I am very sorry that it is, because it does sort of hit home. I hope you'll forgive that fact and enjoy the story.

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**The Stars**  
**Apprentice, Part II  
In Memorium**

Deep within the Underworld, there is a cave. Within it, a million claret candles burn, and the extinguished, spent remains of billions more coat the interior with the wax they have bled. Little of the original rock – like an abyss in its deep darkness – can yet be seen, save for the ceiling. This cave belongs to Death and his life-candles.

Danny laid upon the floor, staring up at the reflective, glass-like rock, which faintly twinkled in the warm flickering of the candlelight. The boy pretended that this stone – some sort of jet or obsidian, maybe – was the night sky, and that the twinkling bits trapped within it were the stars. In spite of his imagination, he yearned for the real sky – his second home – and no mineral could imitate the radiance of real stars. There was no wind to ruffle his hair in Hades, and there were no clouds for him to skim. Trapped like Persephone, Danny ached for the world above. He _needed_ flight, just as he needed the wind and the stars. He felt like a caged bird.

Had Danny complained, he would be racked with guilt soon after. Death, in spite of the cruel ultimatum he had given Danny, had been as gracious to him as he could. Death made an effort to speak with Danny on a daily basis, though the conversations were typically short-lived. He brought Danny things from the Earth, small trinkets the Reaper had found interesting, in addition to food. Danny didn't need any intriguing articles from the world. He needed the world itself. He needed to _live_. Being the apprentice to Death should be an honour, but Danny was left miserable and homesick.

Clearly used to solitude, Death seemed crass or arrogant at times, but he was likable, in an odd way. He was logical and enigmatic, with a mind which worked through inexplicable thought processes. He meant well, yet achieved his goals by any means necessary, and those means often seemed merciless. (Forcing a ghost boy to become his apprentice – by scythe-point, no less – was a perfect example of this.) Death percieved the "big picture," and did what he felt needed to be done. In several ways, he reminded Danny of Clockwork.

Danny wondered if he would ever be like his mentor. If, somehow, Death would no longer be Death, and the name would fall onto Danny. The idea of it didn't particularly bother the half-ghost. What _did_ make him cringe, and what _did_ give him frequent nightmares, was the idea that, one day, Danny would be nothing more than a walking skeleton. He felt like he was wasting away already, so consumed was he by his longing for his old life. Death had taken him away from his family, his friends, his home. . . He had taken Danny's _life_, in essence, and there was no way for Danny to fight any of it. Who battles Death and prevails?

"Death?" Danny asked after mustering his courage.

"Yes?"

"Someday, am I gonna. . . um. . you know. . . ," Danny stumbled over his words. "Am I gonna be like you someday?"

"You will be Death when my time is over."

"I thought so," Danny admitted. "I was just wondering. . . Will I be a skeleton?"

If Death was cross with Danny, the boy couldn't tell. Bone cannot not express emotion. A skull cannot frown, nor can it scowl or glare. It can only stare blankly, with a fleshless grin spread upon its nonexistant face.

"No," Death answered after a while. "Not unless you'd like to be. A form is not constant in that which is not flesh. I choose to be the Reaper."

_That which is not flesh. . ._

"Am I still alive?" Danny wondered aloud.

Death made a noise which might have been amusement. "Your candle split apart when you were fourteen, and one half was extinguished. So, no. You haven't been alive for years. Not really, anyway."

"Half-alive?"

"You ridiculous child, do I not bring you food each day? Do you not breathe? Does your heart not beat? When you are Death, you will have no need for such things, yet now, you do."

"If I'm still half-alive," Danny asked hopefully, "then can I go back?"

"You're my apprentice," Death growled. "You'll stay."

"But my family. . ."

"You don't need them."

"I do! I need a lot of things that you can't give me. I need to fly. I need the Sun, and I need the stars, and I need the wind. I need my family, I need my friends, I need my girlfriend, and I _need_ my home! You've been nice to me, and I'm grateful, but I can't just leave everyone and everything like this. I miss my mom, my dad, my sister, and my friends. I even miss _school_!"

"I can extinguish your candle," Death threatened. His words were empty; he wasn't allowed to tamper with the candles, but that was something that Danny didn't know. "You will be entirely dead, and you'll stay without complaint. Don't forget the power I have over you."

"I didn't forget," Danny said. "Look. . . I'll be your apprentice, but why do I have to stay here? Can't you train me while I live up there?"

Death pondered this for a bit. Perhaps keeping him in the Underworld was unfair. The boy had a life to live, and only when Danny had mastered the duties of Death would he become it. The Grim Reaper assumed that this would occur after Danny's candle had turned into nothing more than a pool of ruby wax. The split candle still burned, however, and he had life in him yet. He had family and friends. He had a girlfriend, but teenage love was usually inconstant, so Death hardly thought of Sam as a factor in his decision. Most importantly, the boy had a _future_. He had a future on Earth, and he had one in the afterlife.

He_ could_ always train Danny whenever he wished to. It wasn't like the boy could hide from him; no one can run from Death. The Reaper said to Danny, "You're half-alive. You will spend half your time in the world above, and you will spend half your time with me, and all will be fair. I will take you when I wish, and without objection will you come. You are my apprentice, I am your mentor; thus, I must teach you. You understand this?"

Danny nodded, and found himself sitting in his bed. The room was dark, and when Danny looked at his clock, the digital, radioactive green numbers glowed _12:01_.

It was as if Death never came at all.


	3. The Scythe

**Author's Notes**: I know that this has been really delayed. This chapter has been sitting on my desktop for months, and I've finally remembered to finish it. But better late than never, right?

**Please be advised**: this chapter is _not pleasant_. I'm not going to tell you why it's unpleasant, because that'll just ruin it. I'm just notifying you that the ending of this isn't a happy one. At best, it's bittersweet. If you were expecting a happy finish to this, then I'm very sorry. If you wouldn't like to read such an unpleasant story, then I'd suggest reading one of the many other, happier stories here.

Thank you to all have reviewed (and will review) this, by the way. I always appreciate the support.

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**The Scythe  
Apprentice, Part III**

_"Do you see that candle upon the ledge? It is no more pronounced than the others, and it is placed amongst them. Notice that it's black. Before, that candle was red, just like the others. That candle is mine. Someday, your candle shall be black as well, and it will burn slowly, so slowly that you might never notice any progress. When you are Death, you must be patient."_

_"Patient for what?"_

_"Your end."_

Soon after the honeymoon, Sam started feeling ill. She rested often and ate little, but assured her new husband, "It's probably just a bug. It'll go away soon. . . Can you grab some Tylenol? I have a headache."

Unsure, Danny – who, secretly, was Death – took her word, and he attempted not to worry. It wasn't extremely difficult to be optimistic, given the circumstances. In fact, he hoped that this _wasn't_ just some passing illness; they'd been on their honeymoon, after all. Sam had been vomiting in the morning, mostly. _Women feel sick at the beginning of pregnancies, don't they?_ he thought. _Please, please, please, let her be pregnant. . ._

_"When you are Death, you must take everyone. You can't be biased," Danny's mentor had lectured for what seemed to be the thousandth time. "You take the rich and the poor, the young and the old, the beautiful and the ugly. Eventually, you'll take your friends and your family, and you must take them as you take everyone else. You can't hesitate. Don't even consider tampering with the candles."_

_"I won't," Danny'd assured, "but why can't I mess with the candles? What would happen? Would the Observants be angry?"_

_Death let out an amused snort. "The Observants? Oh, yes. But you scarcely need to worry about them."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because, little ghost," Death had explained condescendingly, yet with a tinge of fondness, "Death is at the mercy of a higher power, and that power can do far worse to you than an army of Observants."_

When the pregnancy test came back negative, and when the affliction did not subside after an entire month, Danny felt that he could officially worry. He hardly ate and slept even less. While Sam went for medical testing, he reaped souls. His job had taken on an edge of fear, for any moment, he could be called to take Sam. He was terrified to go to the Underworld, to his cave of candles, where he would know exactly how long Sam had to live. Upon becoming Death, he was able to find the candle of any person. Each candle now possessed a name in his mind, a name which presented itself whenever he looked upon it. When he was younger, the candles were only candles, mere sticks of dripping wax. Now, they showed themsleves for what they truly were: lives. Each candle was a life Danny would eventually have to take, and there were billions of them. He'd have to take away billions of people – and some of those people would be taken from their lives far too early, in Danny's opinion.

"Danny," Sam said as she laid in bed, "stop worrying. I'll be fine."

"God, Sam," Danny said. He felt sick himself; his stomach churned, and it seemed as if a rock had permanently lodged itself in his throat. "I really hope so."

That was when the doctors called. They apologized; the news was unpleasant and fear-affirming and it tore Danny apart. They gave the couple three options: surgery, radiotherapy, or chemotherapy. Sam said that she would think about it, and she was advised not to take too long; after all, brain tumors, especially malignant ones, were very serious, life-threatening things.

Three days later, Danny went to the Underworld, reluctantly. He _had_ to. "Because, little ghost," he said to himself, under his breath, "Death is at the mercy of a higher power."

What he found didn't surprise him. He stared at it for what seemed like ages, and fought back the human urges to scream and cry and break things. He needed to be inhuman. Unbiased. Apathetic. He needed to be Death, who was at the mercy of a higher power.

And that higher power which might decide to punish him _and_ his wife, if Death decided to be human.

That night, Death came to Sam Fenton at precisely four twenty-seven in the morning. When she saw him, she smiled and asked, "What took you so long?"

"Sam," Danny said, "you don't understand what I'm here to do."

"I see the scythe, Death," she said. "If anyone is going to take me, I'm glad it's you."

Death took his scythe, raised it, and paused. He felt a pang of abject humanity, of remorse for an act not yet done. He could still change his mind and let her live. . .

. . . And then he lowered the scythe with the speed of a falling guillotine's blade, just as he had thousands, if not millions, of times.

It was over.

Another job done.

_September 9, 2010 – Samantha Fenton (née Manson), age 27, passed away yesterday of a brain tumor, at approximately 4:30 in the morning. She was the recent wife of Daniel Fenton, popularly known as "Danny Phantom," age 27. She was diagnosed with the tumor four days ago. She is survived by her husband and parents, Jeremy and Pamela Manson. The viewing will be held on September 13 at the Hartman Funeral Home, at 7:00 pm. The funeral will be held on September 14, at the Amity Cemetery, at 10:00 am._

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**Author's Notes: **Thank you for reading/bearing with me. Hottiegally passed away from her brain tumor on September 8 at 4:27 am. I wanted to incorporate that somehow. Since this was her challenge, I felt that she should be some part of this. _Requiescat in pace._

The end.


End file.
